


Solo shadow on a sidewalk

by blackhighheels



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race (US) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Violence, Boys In Love, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, Homophobic Language, Idiots in Love, Insults, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, social worker x gang member
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:49:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29805240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackhighheels/pseuds/blackhighheels
Summary: Brock left his job once more, looking for a new challenge and found this: A neighbourhood project looking for a new social worker.
Relationships: Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo
Comments: 29
Kudos: 29





	1. Let's go

**One**

> _“_ _If you want some, come get some,'cause where I'm from we tote big guns._
> 
> _And everybody know somebody that know somebody that know somethin’ bout it,_
> 
> _And I want answers now who, what, where, when and why.” (Let’s go- Trick Daddy)_

The air is stale in the small office and Brock is sure that if he stood in the middle of the small room and spread his arms out, he would be able to touch all four grey walls from there. The stuffiness of the room is exacerbated by the dark, wooden, run-down furniture, the half cooked and very dusty blinds and the dirty, yellowed carpet.

Overall, a pretty standard office of a social worker, Brock thinks with some deprecation. He should be used to it by now, after three years working in a facility for drug-addicted kids and another two at a gay community center in a rough neighbourhood.

Brock left his job once more, looking for a new challenge and found this: A neighbourhood project looking for a new social worker. The pay is a little bit higher than what he made before, he is his own boss and can bring in new ideas and it’s Miami, which isn’t too shabby either. It reminded him of his home, well, chosen home in L.A. a bit. At least weather wise.

Right now the good weather isn’t helping him though, because it’s already too hot and like expected the A/C isn’t really working and just tripping on the floor, leaving more disgusting stains on the carpet as the water drops miss the bucket that’s been placed underneath. Not to speak of the fact, that the dripping sounds alreadydrive Brock crazy after a minute.

There’s no palm trees in this area and no beach. Only run down houses, dirty streets and people who came here to find a better life, just to be disappointed and got stuck.

The former social worker and him haven’t been able to meet beforehand, but there are post-its sticking out of many folders and so he decides to dive right in. He’s been briefed a bit by the people who hired him, but he can’t say he really knows what he’ll face. His assumptions are mainly based on what he’s seen on his way to work, experience and his gut feeling.

Brock eats lunch at the desk, hunched over the files. He eats dinner at the desk, hunched over the files. There is so much to learn about the different issues in the area and the clients who frequent the community center and the social workers counselling: People who don’t know how to pay their rent or need help with a payment plan for their debts. Addicts of all kinds searching for therapy and desperate parents needing help with their children.

And there’s the odd note about community projects like music lessons, dance classes or trips to the next park or zoo with some of the kids. After a while Brock recognises the same family names over and over and is able to piece together the family story: the single mother, who needs help raising her rebellious teens while their father is in jail, while both parents are addicts. The broke grandma who raises too many of her grandchildren to keep track of all of them and therefore tries to sign them up for whatever activity is available and for free, so the kids stay out of trouble and don’t follow the path of their parents.The teen mother who tries to finish school herself, while looking after her toddler and working at the same time.

Brock knows a thing or two about dysfunctional families, coming from one himself, but working with his clients and hearing their stories always puts his own problems into perspective for him. How can he complain about growing up too sheltered and protected from the world, so much so that he felt stifled all throughout his childhood, when most of these kids would gladly switch their childhood for his, simply because there was dinner on the table each night and his parents were never too drunk or too high or in prison.

There’s a knock on the door and when Brock looks towards it and lifts his eyes from the pages he realises that they are burning.

“Yes?”

Slowly the door opens and a small dark haired man sticks his head through the door. The room and the hallway are so sparsely lit Brock can barely see him.

“Hey, you must be the new one,” he is greeted and finally can make out the friendly face of the other man when he steps closer to him and the light of the desk lamp. “I’m Trevien, the dance teacher,” he introduces himself.

“Hi, I’m Brock. Nice to meet you.” Brock likes the other man instantly. “You’re here often?”

“Three times a week, always at eight in the evening, when I’m done with work. Busy first day?” Trevien points to the stacks of folders on his desk.

“Trying to get a feeling for the people here and what’s going on. Sadly I wasn’t able to talk to my predecessor.”

“Yeah, yeah, he left pretty suddenly.”

“You know why?” Brock has bee curious about that for a while.

“Some say something personal, others say he fucked with the wrong people around here.” Trevien shrugs.

“The wrong people?”

“There’s good kids out there, but then… some are not. Better stay away from them and leave them to the police as long as they don’t mess around here at the center. They can’t be helped anymore by us. We can just prevent the younger ones from joining their shit, the gangs and the drugs, you know.”

“You’re from around here?”

“Yeah. I was lucky cause my grandma keep me inside a lot when I was younger and then I started dancing. One of my dancer friends joined, but I didn’t and they left me alone, ya know. I work and study and dance here and see nothing and they leave me alone still.”

Brock knows, but he doesn’t necessarily agree that’s the best strategy. “I think I saw some info in one of the files about some gang.” He starts flipping through the folders, trying to find that one sheet of paper.

“The important one ruling here is ‘Gato Malo’.”

“The evil cat?” Brock giggles, he can’t help it. The name is just too funny. Who comes up with gang names he wonders once more. And such shitty ones? Is it supposed to be impressive or scary? When he hears evil car, he thinks ‘grumpy cat’ and that shit is funny.

“You better not laugh, man. They no joke, even though their naked cat mascot is a bit ridiculous, but you didn’t hear it from me. Just last night someone got shot just a street over.” Trevien doesn’t look amused at all, but Brock is too tired not to find it funny or get himself under control.

“What’s their motto? M.e.o.w?”

Now Trevien has to laugh as well. “Man, you gonna get yourself killed in no time with that shady mouth.”

“Hope you won’t rat me out then.”

“No way. I have to get ready now though. Kids will arrive in a minute.”

“Sure. If you have a minute or two in the next couple of days, just stop by for some coffee and a chat. I’d love to hear more from you.”

“Absolutely. See ya.”

And with that Brock is alone again and decides to call it a night. Once he has put the folders in the drawers and cleaned a bit around the small room it’s nearly nine and the music from the dance studio nearby is blasting through the community center. He quickly peeks inside and finds them performing some hip-hop choreography that he could never ever do. He’ll join them at some later time, just to introduce himself. For today though, all he wants is something to eat, a shower and his bed.

***

When Brock finally leaves the center, the food stall across the street that had been closed when he had arrived this morning, is now open. There are a couple of people waiting in line, chatting on the sidewalk.

His growling stomachand the scent of something spicy makes him cross the street and check out the menu that is illuminated in bright colors. Let’s of Puerto Rican dishes, some Caribbean, some Mexican and some simple basics like fries, burgers and hot dogs. Everything is advertised as “with a delicious twist”, “best in town” or “famous”. The owner must be sure of his cooking skills, that’s obvious.

“Hey, cutie you wanna just stare at the menu or actually order something?” A loud voice snaps Brock out of his thoughts. He finds a somewhat chunky, black guy behind the counter with some sort of turban on his head, round glasses on his nose and wearing long painted acrylic nails. What a character, Brock thinks.

“Oh, I do want to order. I’m just not sure what. Everything seems to be exceptionally good, judging by the raving menu,” Brock can’t help the subtle sarcasm.

“You one shady bitch, blondie,” comes the prompt reply. Seems like his sarcasm wasn’t subtle enough. “I should whoop your skinny ass and let you starve.”

“On my first day? I already fucked up this bad?” Brock asks and gives him his most charming smile.

“Fine.. gonna let you live a bit longer, just ‘cause it’s your first day and all that. Imma make you something special, if you tell me ya name.”

Brock’s smile widens a bit. “I’m Brock. And you?”

“I’m Reggie, but everybody calls me Miss Silky.”

“Nice to meet you, Miss Silky.”

“You said it your first day. First day at what? Haven’t seen you around here before. I’d remember you for sure.”

“I’m the new social worker at the center.” He points with his thumb over his shoulder to the building across the street.

“Ahhh, you the new PhiPhi.”

“Huh?”

“Jaremie, the one before you, we called him PhiPhi.”

Brock just lifts one eyebrow, wondering what kind of weird nicknames seem to be going around here and what he’ll end up being called.

“He came here often?”

“Sometimes. Not that much. He was a bit prissy, ya know. One day he don’t want no greasy food, then he want no meat, next no salt. Kinda crazy that one, if you ask me.”

“You know why he left? I’ve heard several stories so far.” Brock ignores the food stories and goes straight to the point of what actually interests him. If there is someone knowing all the gossip it’s usually the barbers or the food vendors in these areas, Brock knows.

“No… no idea,” Silky is suddenly very tight lipped. “Better let me get ya food, before ya starvin’.” Brock just shakes his head, accepts for now that he’s being lied to and leans against the wall while he waits and watches the street and the people around him.

When people hear Miami, they surely wouldn’t imagine this area in their heads. Over in Wynwood, another neighbourhood with a high crime rate and less than fortunate inhabitants, there’s a lot development going on. Buildings are painted in all colors of the rainbow, the school just got renovated and it’s caused a lot of attention. Now even some tourists walk the streets to see the painted walls that look like house-sized modern art. Here, in Brock’s new working place, that’s a long way to go.

As Brock watches people pass him by, he is struck by the realisation he’s had before: In bad areas the people aren’t bad overall, but they sure look depressed. It’s the way they hold themselves when they walk, much more so than the way they are dressed. There’s a lack of self-confidence surrounding them, even those who tried to cover it up with fake bravado, lots of make.up for the women or a very wide and manly stance for the guys. Even the kids, running around playing, know to keep an eye out for danger. They are street smart much more so than book smart, something that sadly later in life won’t always help them much when it comes to school or College.

Brock can relate to some part; he is no stranger to hopelessness and depression, anxiety and panic over the smallest things. It’s what keeps him moving from one place to another, from one job to the next, one person to the next, always hoping to find some peace and happiness that lasts longer than a couple of hours.

Dealing with the problems of other people keeps him distracted from dealing with his own most days, knowing that his problems are small in comparison. How can he stay in bed all day when there’s a kid he could help or a family he can save from foreclosure?

“Here, look at this? Ain’t that the most beautiful burger you’ve ever seen?” Silky is back and places a ginormous burger on the counter that’s glistening with grease.

“Uuh… it’s huge, that’s for sure.”

“You better taste it and like it or I might just kick your bony ass after all.”

Brock chuckles and tries to bite into the burger without spilling sauce on himself or making half of it drop to the floor. He can barely open his mouth wide enough to take a bit. Once he manages though, he has to admit that the burger is good. Not the best he ever had, but a solid burger.

“It’s good,” he says, his mouth still full of food.

“No manners them hos from the west,” Silky rolls his eyes, but seems satisfied with the compliment, because he hands Brock some napkins. “Where are you from?”

“Here and there. I’m originally from Canada, but I’ve lived here and there. New York, Houston, Nashville, Chicago, L.A.”

“You sure move around a bit.” Silky nods. “You got a wife, some kiddos?”

“No wife. But two kids,” Brock says and bites into the burger again. “My two cats,” he admits with a giggle once he’s swallowed.

“A cat lady.” Silky looks at him for a moment and then nods, apparently reaching a verdict.

“Ya better deepen that giggle of yours or you gonna get your gay ass kicked around here. The only gay lady accepted around here is me, cause my ass’ to big to kick for them gang hos. Also, they like my food. But a tall blonde like you who giggles like a little girl… that ain’t flying around here. Especially not of you wanna do your job. You gotta butch up or they don’t take you serious for nothing and won’t accept your help.”

Brock hears the advise and first wants to argue, annoyed by it. It’s not right being discriminated and judged this way. But then who is he talking to? He can just imagine what it must have been like for someone like Silky to grow up around here. And it’s solid advise. Not politically correct, but it could make his start here easier.

“I’ll try,” he finally nods. Not everybody’s gaydar was always switched on and calibrated the right way, but if Silky could figure it out after talking to him for a minute, he had to change something. Being gay was not really a good thing when it came to leading a community center in the middle of a gang hood.

“And you should fatten up. Skinny dudes get mugged more.”

“That’s not true,” Brock laughs.

“It is.”

“Statistically there’s no prevalence in mugging victims according to gender or stature,” Brock shoots back.

“In my statistics there is,” Silky huffs. “You wait here. I’m gonna give you some waffles for snacks to try and some cake I’ve got left over.”

“The ten dollars I gave you for the burger are all the cash I have on me.” Brock tries to stop him.

“Imma put it on your tab. I know where you working, I’ll get my money,” Silky shrugs it off and disappears into the kitchen.

***

“Bye Silky, and thanks for the snacks,” Brock says and turns around to wave to him as he walks off. He doesn’t get far though, just two steps before he crashes into someone right as he turns back around to look where he is going.

“Fuck!” The other person exclaims and Brock can only stare as they tumble down to the ground and land with their butt on the sidewalk.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” Brock exclaims and drops his bags so he can help the other person up.

“Get your hands off, you fucker!” A rough voice refuses. It’s when they are both standing upright again, Brock’s hands slapped away forcefully from where they hauled him off the ground, that Brock realises that he din’t send a teen to the ground, but a fully grown man. Well… grown man, who is a bit on the smaller side size wise. He is about a head shorter than Brock, his dark eyes twinkle dangerously up at Brock from below the shield of his hat and his hands are clenched to fists now. He looks a bit like an angry Miniature Pinscher, but Brock is still to worried about possible injuries to find that thought really funny. There’s also something in the intensity of his gaze, that keeps Brock from looking away. This man is simply beautiful, in a weird ‘rough around the edges’ kind of way. Brock usually likes his men tall, soft and slightly girly. This man is none of that and still Brock is captivated by… something, which he can’t quite put his finger on.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologises again once he finds his voice. “Did I hurt you?”

“You hurting me? Look at you, white boy,” he laughs scornfully and brushes the dirt off his jeans with both hands. It’s not obvious, but this guy is a all muscle and Brock is sure that even though he is taller, the other one would win any fight with him without any problems. “Who the fuck are you? Never seen your ass around here.” The words are rude, but the look the smaller man gives Brock is curious and assessing.

He can feel his eyes run over his body, his face, taking everything in, because they leave trail of heat wherever they look. Brock can tell that he’s being judged, checked for possible danger and probably found out in seconds. He’s checked for arms of any kind, but his clothes are too tight to hide any. He’s checked for gang tattoos, but his clothes are too long to reveal any, so he simply relaxes his hands so the other man can see the tattoos on his hands are simple symbols with meaning only for him and not some gang branding.

He also softens the look in his eyes and meets the suspicious black pools of the smaller man with his blue ones, hopefully not showing any danger.

Brock knows that people from broken homes and dangerous excel in one area more often than others: Judging people. They have to, really, because one wrong call of judgement can mean a beating or worse. If you are trained to read your parents emotions in seconds to know if you can approach them and how to appease them, you learn to read people really fast. And he’s being read right now.

“I’m Brock. I’m the new social worker at the center,” he introduces himself for the third time this day and holds out his hand. The other man’s eyebrows nearly reach his hairline and he makes no move to shake the offered hand. Instead he adjusts his hat, straightens the thick silver and gold chains around his neck and stands a bit taller.

“Which idiot thunk that was a good idea?” He snorts and then purses his lips as he keeps staring at Brock, waiting for his reaction. He’s provoking him on purpose.

“Me,” Brock shrugs and leans over to pick his bags back up.

“Mmh,” the other man makes and rolls his eyes. First in one direction, then in the other. It makes Brock chuckle.

“And you are?”

“None of ya fucking business.” The smaller man blusters and comes a step closer. His aftershave reaches Brock’s nose and he sways slightly forward before he catches himself. Fuck, that guys smells good. Would it be weird, if he asked him what kind of aftershave he uses? Anyone ever got shot for asking this question?

“Yo, Jo! Leave the white boy alone,” Silky suddenly yells from behind his counter and makes them both turn in his direction.

“His white ass fucking ran me over!” The rough voice gets even louder as he yells his reply back at Silky, who doesn’t seem impressed at all by the display.

“Not his fault you only as tall as a three year old. And he liked my special burger and ate the whole thing. I like me a man who can eat.”

“Bitch!” He storms towards the counter and slams his fist down. “You better have my Mofongo ready before I kick your fat ass,” he screeches, but Silky just slaps his hand. “I don’t care for nothing what that Goldie locks can eat or not.”

“Get your dirty paws off my clean counter. And be nice to the newbie. He my future husband, ya know.” Silky openly leers at Brock, who comes a bit closer again. He’s still cold and he should still go home, but he’d rather have this situation resolved now before he’ll get stabbed in an alley later. “Brock, meet my best friend Jose. He gonna be my man of honor when we getting married.” Silky introduces them and makes Brock come closer again.

“I don’t think I proposed earlier.”

“You liked my food.”

“That’s enough for you to marry?” Brock shoots back.

“You not bad on the eyes either.”

“I could be a bad guy.”

“You a social worker.”

“I said I was, maybe that was a lie?” Brock jokes.

“I take the risk to get some hot white dick on the regular. You can kill me after the wedding night,” Silky flirts awkwardly.

“I wouldn’t kill you after the wedding. Just take your money. You’re the owner of the food stall with the best burgers in town and the world famous chilli cheese fries. I’m just a poor social worker. I’d win.”

“Ha! He good at that, Silky. He gotcha,” his former victim, Jose, comments as he leans against the wall, watching their exchange with interest. With the smile on his face instead of the scowl he looks cute. Still beautiful, but very cute as well on top of smelling amazing and… Brock really has to get a grip.

“He gotcha too or who was lying on the floor a minute ago, bitching?” Silky shoots back and hands him some food through the window.

“I’m really sorry. I didn’t watch where I was going,” Brock points out again before Jose gets another chance to become angry at him again.

“Calm down, Karen. I won’t kick your white ass tonight. I’m too hungry for that and it being your first day and all.” He looks less angry now that he has some hot food in front of him.

“Karen? I’m no Karen!”

“You no J.Lo either.”

“Oh but you are?” Brock sasses back, liking the quick exchange.

“He can dance like her after the fifth tequila,” Silky supplies and Brock guffaws. When he looks at the other man, he finds him laughing as well. He leans into his direction again, flushing, hot suddenly as his heart beats faster just watching Jose laugh. It’s loud and boisterous and Brock can see dimples showing on his cheeks. Brock can’t remember if he ever met someone as charismatic and beautiful as Jose before. Never has he been attracted to anyone as much as to him, after just meeting someone.

“If you want to dance without tequila, you can always stop by at the community center. We have dance classes.” Is he really flirting with this guy? He really must be losing his fucking mind. He should probably get laid soon to get over the horniness that apparently messes with his mind.

“Thanks, but no thanks, Mr. Social Worker,” Jose mocks him. “That’s not the people I hang with.”

“That’s too bad,” Brock shrugs and feels disappointed but tries not to show it. The other man intrigues him and he’d like to get to know him better, even though he should not. He’s just arrived here, he knows nothing about this guy and he does know that the area is a mess. All reasons to keep his distance.

Brock knows Jose has people skills and Brock could surely learn a lot from him about the area and the people around here, but that’s admittedly not why he wants to know him better. “I better get going. It’s getting cold now. Thanks again Silky.” Brock holds up one bag and looks for the other on the ground. It’s closer to Jose than it is to him and the smaller man picks it up and hands it to him.

Jose’s shirt slips open a bit, revealing his chest. For a second Brock just stares, can’t take his eyes off his now exposed skin. Then his eyes wander upwards and meet Jose’s. They are not angry anymore, more curious and definitely warm. Brock takes the bag from him, breaks the eye-contact and then quickly takes a step back, then another. The warmth in Jo’s eyes means nothing, If he catches the fear now reflected in Brock’s eyes.

Because there, on Jose’s chest up to his throat is the large tattoo of a naked cat with the letters G.M. clearly visible underneath, like a chair the cat is sitting on.

The bigger the tattoo, the higher the rank, Brock knows that much about gangs. And that is one huge tattoo for someone so small. Yet, size doesn’t matter when you run into someone high up in the local gang hierarchy and nearly got into a fight with him. Nervously Brock waves at Silky once more and then hurries home. He should be happy if he never sees Jose again, but somehow still wishes he’ll see the gang member around sometime. He’s fucked and not in a good way – it’s only the first day at his new job.

**TCB**


	2. Take my breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very quick update to get this story on the road. Don't get used to it.
> 
> Please be aware that there are descriptions of violence in his chapter.

**Two**

> _I don't say a word_ _, b_ _ut still you take my breath and steal the things I know._ _There you go, saving me from out of the cold._
> 
> _(Sam Smith - Fire on Fire)_

“Hey, Brock. Got your coffee, you got my cake?” Trevien steps into Brock’s office late in the afternoon, hours before his first dance class. It’s a ritual that started weeks ago, Wednesday is coffee and cake afternoon for them. Trevien has Wednesday afternoons off at the gas station he works at and Brock enjoys his company and his insight into the people here at the center.

Over the last couple of weeks Brock has dived head first into the work. For the most part he has managed to build a good rapport with the people of the community. He’s started a cooking class for teenage parents to show them how to cook healthy food while on a budget. He’s made his mark in the weekly Bingo night as a host and to his own biggest surprise found out he can be funny. And most importantly he’s managed to create a network for himself with teachers, other social workers, police, probation officers and the local gay community.

Beside the one on one talks he’s having all throughout the day for all kinds of problems and topics, his current idea is to set up a “health hour” where the people can get the opinion of a professional about the health issues and if they need to see a doctor, get tested for STDs and also get information about safer sex and receive condoms, pregnancy tests and prenatal vitamins.

“Sure. Although Silky talked me into accepted his new donuts instead of cake, I hope that’s ok.”

“Meaning he refused to pack up the cake you ordered and just handed you whatever he wanted?” Trevien knows.

“Pretty much, yeah. I rarely get what I order these days.” They both have to laugh and Brock takes the coffee while Trevien unpacks the donuts on the table.

“They filled with something?”

“I think so. No idea what though. I tried one earlier, but I couldn’t tell.”

“Well, was it good?” Trevien eyes the donut suspiciously.

“It was, yes. I just couldn’t tell what exactly I’m eating.”

“As long as it’s good,” Trevien shrugs and takes a huge bite, nearly swallowing the whole donut. Brock does the same and for a couple of seconds all that can be heard in the room beside the tripping of the AC are the chewing sounds.

“I’ve got a question,” Brock washes down the rest of the food with some of the hot coffee.

“Sure,” Trevien is always excited whenever Brock needs his help or asks for his opinion. He can only guess that it doesn’t happen too often in his day job that anyone values his opinion. The fact that Trevien is also a College student doesn’t matter at the gas station.

“I’m thinking about setting up some kind of health service here at the center. I found out there’s a small budget for it that hasn’t been used up for the last two years. You know like free testing, sex education, get your blood sugar levels checked out - that kind of stuff.”

“Mmh,” Trevien quickly swallows the donut pieces, “we used to have that around here for years, but then Jaremie cancelled it because he got into some kind of fight with the nurse who did this.”

“Is she still around? And do you think she’d be willing to work here again?”

“Yeah, she’s living just ‘round the corner. And she loved this job, because she loves to help out the community, you know? She’s one of those working full-time, raising her kids, baking for church, helping out the neighbourhood…”

“Can you give me her cellphone number or address so I can ask her?”

“Sure, I’ll give you her number, I’m sure she won’t mind. Her name is Anna. Please tell her I said ‘hi’.”

“Will do. And how are the dance classes going?” Brock changes the topic while Trevien is still scribbling down the phone number.

“Good, good.” There’s something in the way he says it.

“But?”

“But…” he sighs, caught by Brock’s observant nature. “Two of my boys don’t show up regularly anymore. End of last week after class I saw them get picked up by one of their older brothers. He’s in GM, you know, and I think he’s trying to recruit them. They now got real expensive hoodies and their shoes cost more than my rent. They’re good kids though…”

“Have you tried talking to them?”

“Hey, I told ya I’m staying out of this gang shit. I don’t see nothing, I don’t comment and I don’t get in the way. If I talk to them and they tell their brother then I’m dead, man.”

“Do you want me to talk to them?”

“You got a death wish?” Trevien deadpans.

“No, but I’m also not here to watch the gang recruit more and more kids. I’m a social worker, it’s kind of my job to intervene.”

“Fine, if you say so.”

“You’re gonna give me their names at least?”

“Sure… the older one is Malik, the younger one Darnell.”

“Who’s the brother in the gang who tries to recruit them?”

“DeShawn, ‘D’ for short.”

“Any other family?”

“Just their drunk grandfather and their ma. She has six other kids and is in over her head. She also kinda needs the money D brings home.” Brock sighs. So he can’t really expect support from the family if he wants to keep the boys out of the gang. He looks at the names that he’s written down and remembers something else that he wanted to ask Trevien.

“Going by the names I’d say they’re black, right?”

“Sure, like me,” Trevien smiles.

“How is it that black kids can join a gang called Gato Malo? Isn’t that Hispanic name? These gangs are usually pretty racist.”

“I don’t know. They used to be just Latinos, but for a couple of years they’ve been taking all the people the can get: White, black, Asian… they’re not discriminating when it comes to who sells their drugs or guns. The leaders are still Latinos though to this day.”

“They still live in the area?”

“Oh yeah,” Trevien chuckles, but it’s not a happy sound. “You know, I used to be besties with the now right hand man of the boss? Like in kindergarten and primary school we was thick as thieves, always together. We were on the dance group together. And then we were like 12 or 13 he joined the gang and left the dance group. He’s not really talking to me anymore. I still kind of miss him sometimes.” Trevien looks sad as he tells the tale of his wayward childhood friend.

“Which one is it?”

“Jose. About my height, small scar on the forehead and a huge cat tattoo on his chest.”

Brock swallows hard, because he knows too well who Trevien is talking about. It’s the same guy he hasn’t been able to get out of his head for weeks.

“I know him,” Brock says quietly.

“You do?” Trevien’s eyes widen. “How the fuck do you already know him? Please tell me he didn’t show up here! Cause that would be… real bad. Like we’d better close the center kind of bad.”

“No, he wasn’t here at the center,” Brock replies. "I ran into him at Silky’s one night, literally. I didn’t pay attention to where I was going and made him fall.”

“And you live to tell the tale? He didn’t even beat you up?”

“Beat me up? He barely reaches up to my shoulder,” Brock laughs it off, even though he knows Trevien is right.

Trevien doesn’t find it funny though and becomes very serious and intense. “Don’t ever underestimate Jose and his temper. I’ve seen him beat a guy taller than you into a pulp once. He’s got a very short fuse and when he explodes you’re lucky if you make it out alive. He’s the one responsible for keeping the people inside in check, while his cousin Manuel takes care of the business side of things. I don’t even wanna know how many people Jose’s killed.” Trevien swallows hard. “So, please, just stay away from him.”

“I am, I will. Like I said, I just bumped into him at Silky’s and Silky defended me that night. I haven’t seen him since, so I think I’m good for now. Don’t worry, ok?”

“Ok,” Trevien sighs heavily. “You gonna join dance class tonight? Maybe Malik and Darnell will show up?”

Brock guffaws and lightly punches Trevien’s upper arm. “Oh, so you do want to get me killed after all ?!”

“Oh shut up.” Now Trevien’s laughing as well.

*******

It’s already half past ten when Brock leaves Silky’s food stall that night to walk to his car. He’s here nearly every day, but rarely as late as today.

After several counselling meetings, he finally met Anna and spent some time getting to know her a bit. He checked on the dance classes while Anna insisted on setting up her office and see what supplies she would need to get. Brock had left at some point to get something to eat before he goes home and had stayed and chatted with Silky for a while.

Silky always has a story or two about himself and the people in the neighbourhood. Besides Trevien, Silky has become Brock’s main source of information. It’s not the first time he forgot the time while he’s chatting to him. It’s also nice out now, especially at night. The days are too hot and too humid, but the nights are perfect. He’s still in his flip flops, kaki shorts and white T-shirts. Not really matching is his neon-green wooden hat, but he likes it and it saves him some time in the morning trying to wrangle his curly hair into shape.

Brock’s car is parked around the corner from the center at the large parking lot, that’s guarded during the day, but not at night. He’s not really worried about it getting stolen, because the old car would hardly be worth the effort. There’s also nothing of value in it, not even a piece of clothing or some loose change.

Brock crosses the street and takes the long way around to the parking lot because it’s the only way where the streetlights provide at least a little bit of security. He’s been warned to stay away from the narrow alleyways, because that’s usually where deals are made and prostitution happens. All things he doesn’t want to witness, so he won’t be tempted to intervene or could be in danger as a possible witness.

He walks onto the open parking space, surrounded by a low wall on one side and empty, wobbly looking billboards on the the other.

“Hey, blondie!” A couple of kids yell over from where they are sitting on the low wall, smoking, joking around and probably illegally drinking. Brock doesn’t have his contacts in and his glasses lay forgotten at the office so he’s not sure if he knows the kids or not. So he just raises his hand to wave, then continues in direction of his car. He digs through one of the bags Silky gave him, thinking he’s thrown his car keys in there, but can’t find them. So Brock manoeuvres the bags into his left hand and searches his shorts pockets with his right.That’s when he suddenly falls forward because if a push to his back. Brock is barely able to catch himself, but remains standing after a bit of stumbling.

“We was talking to you,” Brock is told and when he turns around he finds himself face to face with five teens, between the age of fifteen to eighteen, he guesses. Looking into their eyes now he’s sure at least three of them are high on something, but all of them seem really interested in ‘talking’.

“Sorry, I didn’t know,” he replies lightly, trying to defuse the situation. “How can I help you?”

“Help us?” There’s laughter at the question and fir the first time Brock feels a flutter of fear in his gut.

“You fag stayin’ out of our neighbourhood would be helpin’.” Another boy says. More laughter, some nods.

“White guys don’t belong here… only if they pay. So pay us.”

“The only thing I have is the food. I don’t have any money on me,” Brock replies truthfully.

“Fuck your food.” The bags with Silky’s food are kicked out of his hand, the foot smashing against the back of his hand painfully. “Money, now!”

“I swear to you I don’t have any.” Brock repeats and slowly clenches and unclenches his left hand, checking if anything is broken.

“We don’t believe no fags.” Before can even fully understand what’s being said a first punch lands right in the middle of his face. The crunching sound as the fists hits his nose seems very loud to him and the pain has him staggering back ans tears shoot in his eyes and his vision gets blurry. He doesn’t get far, has no time to process any of it. The punches and kicks come raining down on him: on his shins, his waist, his groin and his head. A hard punch to his sleeve sends him to the floor and all he can do it protect his head with his arms and hands. He can hear them yelling at him but the buzzing sound in his ears keeps him from understanding what they are saying. Brock can barely breathe and he’s aware of the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. They stop kicking his stomach at some point and seem to focus on his head. The blows to his arms and fingers become stronger and Brock screams in pain, when one of them kicks him in the back with the heel of his shoe.

Suddenly there’s some other noise, more voices, yelling, screaming, punching sounds and Brock knows that if more of them are coming, he won’t survive this night.

But suddenly the punches and kicks stop, only the pain remains as he lies there on the parking space, still covering his head.

Some argument seems to be going on and he can hear women’s voices. Please, no, he thinks, let’s not have some women being attacked or raped because they try to stop these kids. Brock slowly opens one eye and sees three pairs of very high heels. They don’t move so at least there doesn’t seem to be some struggle. And when they suddenly do move, they walk away slowly. Brock wants to scream for them to come back, to not leave him here. He has no idea where his attackers are, but he’s afraid they might still be right there, so he doesn’t move. Maybe if they think he’s dead or unconscious they will just leave him here?

The sounds of the heels are gone, when someone touches his hands and slowly and very carefully takes them off his face. “You alright?” Brock knows that voice and blinks his eyes open. He’s not sure if he’s hallucinating: Leaning above him is Jose, his beautiful face looking very worried is so close Brock can make out freckles on Jose's nose even in the semi-dark with his blurry sight.

Brock tries to reply, but allthat escapes his mouth is a broken groan, when he tries to move and a wave of nausea hits him because of the pain.

“You gotta get up. We’ve gotta get you outta here,” Jose tells him and helps Brock sitting up. Everything just hurts and Brock knows he’s seconds away from throwing up.

“Here, open your mouth,” Jose instructs and Brock does so without thinking about it. Jose pours some water in his mouth. “Rinse, then spit.” They repeat it a couple of times before Jose pours the rest of the water over Brock’s face and his hands.

“Thanks,” Brock manages to get out while trying to take deep breaths against the nausea. Now that the taste of blood is gone from his mouth, it’s slowly getting better.

“Let’s get you up.” One second Brock is sitting on the ground, the next Jose has hauled him up. Brock yells in pain. “Breathe.” Jose wraps Brock’s arm over his own shoulder to keep him upright. When Brock manages to take a deep breath the thing he can smell and taste, since he’s breathing through his mouth because his nose is swollen shut, is Jose’s spicy aftershave. The scent seems to work like a pill against pain, because he feels better immediately. “You think you can walk back to your office?”

“I don’t know,” Brock admits. He has no idea, if he can walk on his own, but he also doesn’t want Jose to just leave him here. He saved him and he feels safe as long as he’s close by. In his current condition he’d be a very easy target for everyone out there. Brock knows no one will mess with Jose though.

“Imma walk you back. We takin’ the fast way. Keep your head down,” Jose tells him and then hauls him into a dark alley way, just like the ones he’s been warned about, and basically drags him back to the community center. Brock flinches with every step and can’t keep his groans down when the pain gets too much. His left hand is particularly bad, so is the left side of his ribcage and his nose. He’s also aware that he must have some sort of head-wound, because blood keeps trickling down his ear and down his arms and chest.

Brock can also see some of his blood on Jose’s white wife-beater and his hands. Or was he bloody before he came to his rescue? Brock doubts it.

The way they take is much shorter than the way Brock took earlier, but it still seems endless to him.

“You got them keys still on you?” Jose asks him when they finally reach the entrance.

“Yeah, left pocket.” Brock tries to get the keys out of his pocket himself, but he’s lacking the coordination to do so and also his hands are too swollen. Jose unceremoniously puts his hand in Brock’s pocket and gets the keys out. “The one on the red ring,” Brock instructs, because neither can he unlock the door. The buzzing sound in his ears in coming back and he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to stay upright. The pain fades as the buzzing get louder, which makes him welcome it.

The lights are still on in the center and after the door falls shut behind them, Anna shows up after a second, something in hand, which she drops when she seems them.

“Oh dios mio! Brock!” She exclaims loudly and hurries to his other side, helping Jose walking him to Anna’s room, where she’s still working apparently. “What happened?” She demands and looks at Jose and not at him.

“Got beat up by some kids in the parking lot,” Jose shrugs and slowly helps lowering him on the cheap exam table.

“Kids? Jose!” Anna sounds very angry. Brock doesn’t care though, because lying down feels too good right now.

“Imma take care of it,” Jose seems to defend himself and Brock finds him holding his hands up in defence when he turns his head a bit so he can look at him.

“Thank you,” Brock tells him and for a second their eyes meet. Jose doesn’t look away and neither does Brock. The warmth and worry he sees in Jose’s brown orbs makes him forget about the pain and Brock wishes he could get lost in them until he’s all better and maybe even longer than that. The warmth from Jose’s eyes spreads through Brock’s abused body and fills him with a very pleasant feeling that contradicts the the pain he is feeling otherwise.

“Why’d they attack you?” Anna interrupts their moment as she presses a swab tightly to Brock’s forehead, making him groan in pain once more.

“Don’t know. They were high, I guess. Wanted money. Didn’t like that I’m white. Called me a fag… all of it. No idea.” Brock speaks through clenched teeth.

“I gotta go,” Jose suddenly turns around to leave.

“You not gonna stay? You could help me.” Anna yells after him.

“I’ve got things to take care of,” Jose yells back and is gone a moment later.

“This boy… gonna send me to an early grave one day,” Anna mutters and exchanges the bloody swab for a fresh one.

“You know him well?” Brock asks, curious if he can find out more about Jose that way.

“Do I know…? The idiot is my son,” Anna lets him know and Brock falls back against the table with a loud groan of pain. He didn’t see this coming.

*******

“Anna, I really could have got a taxi,” Brock tells her as they near the hospital.

After watching him up as well as she could, Anna was very worried about Brock’s ribs and convinced him to get it checked out at the hospital, so nothing is broken and could puncture his lungs. Anna’s care didn’t stop there, but she also insisted of driving him to the hospital herself.

“Oh be quiet.You can barely walk,” Anna waves him off and pulls into the hospital parking space. She parks then turns off the engine but doesn’t get out of the car. “Brock… I… did Jose do this to you?” She finally asks.

“No,” Brock answers quickly.

“I won’t tell him, you know. I just… wanna know,” Anna speaks slowly and Brock can imagine that it must be painful for her to even consider that her own son would do this to another human being.

“He really didn’t. He was the one who stopped the kids, I think. I couldn’t see or hear too much, but I remember his voice yelling and there were also some women with him. I only saw their shoes though. And then the kids were gone and so were the women and Jose helped me back to the center.”

“Ok,” Anna nods and seems relieved. She gets out of the car and rounds it, then helps him get out and slowly walks with him towards the emergency room entrance. “He’s not a bad person, you know. Just met the wrong people and made some bad decisions. I wish he would stop,” she tells Brock as they walk. “Hefinished his school, even got a 3.5 GPA.” She adds.

“He ever went to College?” Brock asks, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He’s too surprised by the fact that Jose even finished High School. With what he knows from Trevien about how young Jose was when he joined the gang, that kind of lifestyle isn’t really mixing well with going to school.

“No. I think he should, but…” Anna shrugs helplessly.

Then they reach the emergency room and Anna helps checking Brock in, because apparently she works at this hospital and knows the other nurses and doctors. Brock’s wounds get cleaned again, his hand, nose and ribs need to be x-rayed but to his biggest relief nothing is broken. His hand is still bandaged and he gets some pain-meds for the next couple of days. He’s also advised to take it easy for a couple of days.

“Anna, I don’t live too far from here. I’m really gonna be fine just grabbing a taxi. I’ve got my wallet at home, so it’ll be fine.” Brock tells her once they leave the hospital again and Anna offers to drive him home, which is the opposite direction from home for her.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“But you not coming to work tomorrow. It’s Friday, so take a long weekend. I’m gonna come by Monday and check on you. And you got my phone number, if you need anything or feel worse you call me. You got me, mijo?” Anna is firm but gentle and gives him the hug he didn’t realise how much he needed.

“Yes, and thank you again.” Brock gives her a light squeeze back, just as much as he can bear.

“And don’t worry about the center. I tell the others and spread the word that you’ll be back next week.” Brock nods, relieved he won’t have to re-schedule this appointment from home. The grapevine works better than any phone nine the neighbourhood. And if Anna gets Silky to help, it won’t be a problem at all.

Just fifteen minutes later Brock is finally home and the first thing he does is take a quick shower. He feels disgusting; sweaty from the day, dirty from the ground he lay on, the insults hurled at him and the whole attack. It’s a bit complicated to shower and not get his bandage wet, but he somehow manages.

Brock lies down in bed. When his two cats join him and snuggle up to him, it finally hits him what happened to him today. First he is shaking all over, feels sick again and finally starts sobbing.

His tears wet his pillows and his cats’ fur but he can’t stop crying for a while. When one of his cats bumps his head against him, trying to cheer him up, first makes him cry harder but then he gets himself under control again.

He wipes his eyes and sniffs as much as he can with his nose still swollen. With eyes wide open, view blurry, he stares up at the ceiling above his bed and remembers the events of the day, one by one, again and again. After a while Brock manages to leave out some scenes, then others. In the end he only replays certain scenes in his mind; the ones where Jose saved him, where Brock could smell his aftershave again and when he got lost in Jose’s eyes at the office. Finally, he falls asleep.

**TBC**


	3. I'll make it right

**Three**

> _You wear the burden_ _,_ _world on your shoulders, baby._ _So let me hold the weight,_ _I know you're hurting_ _deep as the coldest pain._ _But this is the oldest sayin’._ _I'm gonna show you everything's alright._ _End of the tunnel, there is always light._ _You're in the middle of the darkest night, I know you're hurting, baby.Whenever you look at me with those sad eyes_ _I'm gonna dry those sad eyes._ _I'll make it right, so don't cry._
> 
> _(Sad eyes - James Arthur)_

“My favorite blondie, ya back!” Silky exclaims when Brock makes his way over to Silky’s for his afternoon coffee fix. Brock is very surprised when the small door beside the counter opens and Silky comes out to give him a very careful hug. “Good to have ya back, blondie. I was worried about your sexy ass.”

“My sexy ass might just be the only part of me that isn’t bruised,” Brock chuckles and claps Silky on the back when he finally lets him go and walks back into his kitchen kingdom.

“These fuckers got you good, huh?” Silky knows and hands over the hot coffee Brock’s here for.

“I didn’t see it coming at all. Totally out of the blue.” Brock actually shudders.

“You never do. Trust me, I got beat up good when I was a baby ‘round here.” Silky supplies and starts cooking something.

“I don’t even want to think about what would have happened if Jose hadn’t come by.”

It’s been nearly a week since the attack and Brock’s finally back at work. He’s heard from Anna nearly every day, but not a word from her son, even though he’s the person Brock longs to speak to. He’s thought about asking her for his number, but pushed the thought away as quickly as it had come. Jose had saved him, but that really doesn’t mean anything, right? Especially because it really doesn’t matter. Brock just has to get over this stupid crush of his.

“Jose? Thought the girls chased them away with their purses and heels.” Silky looks truly confused. “They also got them good. Don’t think Tony’s gonna sit down for the next couple of weeks, they whooped his ass so bad.” Silky is chuckling, but Brock can feel his eyes on him, observing his reactions.

“I don’t know, maybe they did. All I know is that when I came to, Jose was suddenly there and helped me back to the center, so Anna could patch me up.” Brock tries to shrug it off. He doesn’t know why Silky thinks the hookers around the area broke up the fight, but Brock trusts that there’s a reason for it.

“Anna would have whooped his ass if he didn’t. That’s one scary lady.”

“Anna?”

“Who do ya think Jo get his temper from? No one fucks with Anna ‘round here.”

Somehow Brock can see that. “Anna’s great. She’s a great help at the center.”

“Ooooh shiiit,” Silky quietly hisses a moment later and Brock turns around to see what Silky sees.

When he does, he doesn’t like one bit what he’s seeing. Four of his attackers are walking straight towards them. The way they approach lets Brock push the panic back down as it starts to build in his gut.

All four of them look just as badly beaten up as he does. One is limping so badly, he should walk on crutches. The tallest, and most likely oldest one of them, looks like he has a broken nose, a split lip, a black eye, bruises all around his neck and his arm is in a cast. The way he moves makes it obvious that every step must be very painful for him. Brock nearly feels sorry for them.

They are about ten feet away when they all stop, quietly discuss something amongst themselves and finally the youngest and smallest one of them slowly walks towards Brock.

“You Mr. Brock, right?” He asks. Brock nods and takes a closer look at the kid. He can’t be more than fifteen, but Brock can already see the warning signs of drug abuse on his face and in his nervous eyes. He’s fidgeting, moving his weight from one leg to the other while his hands hold tightly onto a paper bag. His nails are bitten down so far it must be painful and at least two fingers are infected and need treatment. His clothes are dirty, the kid is dirty and he smells like weed and sweat, even with a safe distance still between them.

“We was… we wanted to say say, uhm, sorry, 'cause… we was high and… sorry. We… your hat’s, uhm, there’s holes in it, so….” He trails off and offers the paper bag to Brock, who takes it with some hesitation.

“Thanks. If you ever need something, like, something to eat, or a shower or just… just stop by the centre ok?” Brock tells him. He’s usually not insecure around the kids, but after nearly being beaten to death by them he understandably has some reservations. However, the professional in him can’t just let them walk off like this.

“K,” the boy nods and then shuffles back to his friends, limping slightly. They all walk back the way they’ve come from, telling Brock that they came here just for him and that they knew he’d be here or have seen him.

“What’s in the bag?” Silky asks and makes him turn back around towards the counter.

“I don’t know.”

“Ya better open it before they slip you some drugs or poison or some shit,” Silky advises and so Brock opens the bag. Inside he finds a new beanie, light grey this time and definitely a lot more expensive than his old one was.

“Fancy.” Silky whistles and then has to take care of other customers who line up in front of his window. Brock takes this as his hint to go back to the center.

Once back at the community center, he meets music teacher Brian in the hallway.

“You brought us back some cake?” He asks excitedly.

“No, not today. Can’t carry coffee and cake with one hand,” Brock chuckles. “That’s just some beanie I was just gifted.”

“Oooh, you already have a secret admirer around here? Who’s the lady?” Brian stage whispers and comes really close. Too close for Brock’s taste, but that’s just Brian. Also always touching, always excited about everything and always using large gestures and even wider eyes.

“The ‘admirer’ are the guys who beat me up. They gave me this. I guess to say sorry?” Brock wonders.

“Sorry? You think our gang bangers around here come to say ‘sorry’ after they nearly kill you?” Brian is cracking up, his loud laugher filling the center and he actually turns around one time while running on the same spot.

“They’re only kids.”

“Kids who nearly put you in hospital or a casket. I don’t know who you wanna believe that shit, but not me. But fine, fine, I’m gonna find out who’s madly in love with you some other time,” Brian is still shaking with laughter. The idea of his young attackers saying sorry so ludicrous, that Brian doesn’t even consider it being true.

Brock walks into his office and there he checks the paper bag and the beanie thoroughly for hidden substances and weapons. He can’t find anything, though.

Brock sinks into his desk chair and eyes the beanie thoughtfully. Why would they do this? Say sorry and even give him a present? Are they afraid he’ll press charges? Brock somehow doubts it. Especially, because he already talked to the police this morning and assured them that he couldn’t remember much. He doesn’t even know why he lied, if it was out of fear or to protect these kids in some way, but tattling to the police just didn’t seem like the right thing to do.

Have they found out about it and that’s why they gave him the hat? Also not very likely. Brock remembers how nervous they all were, how scared the looked. Just like someone sent them to him and watched them….

Jose!

It’s the only explanation Brock can come up with. It must have been Jose who made them apologise. With this thought the nervous flutters he always gets when he thinks about Jose are back.

Yet, he remembers the injuries the kids have and if Jose’s behind the beanie, then Jose’s also the one who beat these kids up. And that thought doesn’t sit right with Brock at all.

*******

“Brock! Brock!” He hears Anna calling his name and turns around in the hallway, when he just wanted to go check on the cooking class going on.

It’s been a couple of days since he’s been back, but beside her daily phone calls he hasn’t had any contact with Anna and hasn’t seen her since they left the hospital.

Anna’s working at the center two times a week, one day in the afternoon, one day in the evening, when the darkness outside provides some protection from being seen when entering to get some advice on the more delicate issues like STDs, birth control or bruises caused by physical abuse at home. There has also been a cause of head lice in a family of six, Brock knows because Anna told him on the phone while he was still resting. For two days after Brock’s own head kept itching and he finally went and bought some preventive lice shampoo, just to calm his overactive mind.

“Anna, you’re early,” he smiles and is wrapped in a warm hug a moment later.

“Let me you at you,” she tells him once she pulls back and holds him at arm’s length. “The bruises are getting better. But I need to change your bandage. It’s disgusting.”

Brock follows her eyes to the dirty bandage wrapped around his hand. “Can’t we just take it off all together? The sprain is so much better, I don’t think I need it anymore.”

“I be the judge of that,” Anna disagrees and pulls him behind her by his shirt sleeve. Technically it’s way too warm outside to wear long-sleeved shirts, but with all the bruises still visible all over his body, Brock prefers it and just has to keep sweating for now.

When they reach her small office Brock is pushed on the table to sit down and Anna cuts the bandage right off of him. His hand underneath is still bruised, but no longer swollen. Anna eyes is carefully and makes him flex his hand and fingers.

“And?”

“It better, but Imma wrap it again so you not using your hand fully. You have to take it easy,” Anna lets him know. While Anna gets a bandage and tape, Brock watches her and is suddenly struck by just how much Jose looks like his mother. He should have seen the resemblance before, but the night of the attack Brock had other problems and was also without his contacts.

“Jose really looks like you,” he speaks his thoughts out loud, because the comment is innocent enough, right?

“Mmh, I wanted a girl, but I got him looking like me,” she laughs.

“Can I ask you something?” Anna is really the only one he can talk about this with openly. Silky apparently knows nothing, and Trevien isn’t a fan of Jose to begin with.

“About my son?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure,” she shrugs, but curiosity is written all over her face.

“When I came back on Monday I ran into the kids who beat me up. They looked like they’ve been beaten up themselves and apologised to me. They even gifted me with a new beanie. I just… I’m wondering of Jose’s behind it. And if he is, then why?”

Anna sighs and starts wrapping his hand back up. She seems to think about his question and Brock waits for her answer, hoping he didn’t reveal just how much Jose’s been on his mind.

While he was recuperating at home, Brock was barely able to get the other man out of his mind. He had this strange longing keeping him up at night and lost himself in daydreams about Jose coming to pay him a visit while he was stuck at home. He pictured Jose bringing him coffee and gently taking care of his injuries. He dreamed of cuddles in bed as he nuzzles his face into Jose’s neck and soft kisses on his forehead lull him back to sleep. He imagined what they would talk about and wished so badly for Jose to simply contact him in some way that sometimes Brock was able to smell Jose’s aftershave on his own pillow.

Yet, the reality is that Jose didn’t call him and didn’t stop by. Brock is pretty sure that Jose is straight, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to hold the position in the gang that he has. And even if he isn’t, it means nothing.

Brock has a tendency to get lost in the romance he conjures up in his head, while in reality he shies away from intimacy. He has trust issues, he knows that. In movies and books people like him always meet someone who is patient enough to crack that shell and draw the person out, motivated by love. In real life, love interests stay away from people like him. In the age of Grindr there’s no reason to be patient and court someone, when you can have another man for the night with one click.

Sometimes, Brock makes use of this, when the loneliness and horniness gets too much, but it’s not what he really wants. He wants the long talks and the cuddles and the romance. He wants soft kisses and laughter before sex. The quick fucks manage to take the edge off, but leave him empty afterwards, when the bed is cold again and he’s still alone.

There have a couple of men who stayed, who were still there in the morning and ended up adding their laundry to his, until suddenly they were gone again and so was their laundry.

The loneliness was the reason behind his ‘fantasy Jose’ when he was lying in bed, hurting, medicated and beat up by the kids. How he had wished he had someone by his side…his heart and mind had come up with the romantic version of his newest crush.

Brock doesn’t really understand what it is about Jose that has him so fascinated and utterly irrational. Jose is no romantic prince, no man of soft touches and nice words. The real Jose is a criminal, a gang member. Someone who beats up others, intimidates and most likely kills. He’s hard, unforgiving and cruel. He lives in a world of weapons and drugs, a world Brock despises.

So what has Brock crushing so hard on this impossible man? Why is the mention of his name enough to make his heart speed up?

It’s impossible, it’s hopeless and Brock has to get over it. Maybe that’s why he’s asked Anna the question? Maybe he wants her to tell him that her son is rotten to the core, so he can convince his own heart?

“I don’t know exactly what Jose does out there. I can imagine, but… he’s my son. I love him. And he’s a good son, a good boy. I think, I just don’t wanna know it all. He wasn’t like… this, when he was younger. He was soft, looked out for others, for me and his brothers. He loved singing and dancing and Disney movies,” Anna tapes the bandage shut. “And one day he showed up with a gun and knives and tattoos. He stays out all night doing god knows what and the cops start showing up. He got stabbed, shot… we nearly lost him twice. But I know, because I’m his ma, that my little boy is still in there somewhere. I doubt it sometimes, but you…. I know he likes you. Maybe because you look a bit like my second husband, his stepfather. He got shot on his way to work fifteen years ago… I don’t know if my son beat up those kids or made them give you a hat. But he helped you and brought you back to the center. He never comes here, ever. I don’t want his gang bring their dirt here, I told him that.” Anna’s voice is shaking.

“So he keeps the gang out and away from the community center because you asked him to?” Brock asks, understanding that this was a rule that Anna established and if Jose wouldn’t respect it, it would be one of the things she wouldn’t be able to forgive him for.

Anna nods her head once and avoids his eyes for a couple of seconds. “I want him out of the gang and get away from here. I want him to have a family, find someone he loves. I want him to do a boring job where he earns too little, but won’t go to jail or get killed. He needs to learn and study without all the violence… maybe go to college… Can’t you talk to him? Help him get away from here?” She’s basically pleading with Brock, even though they both know that her wishes for her son won’t come true. There is no leaving the gang to live a peaceful life. There’s no having a family after you turn your back. You’re either in or you’re out and when you leave, you’re dead.

They both know it, and still Brock says: “I can try.”

He says it because he likes Anna and doesn’t want to devastate her. And maybe he also says it for himself, because he likes Jose a little too much, even if it’s just the fantasy version of him.

“Ok, then tell me when you have a free appointment and I’ll make sure he’ll come. What should he bring? His certificates? The documents from his parole? Drug tests?” Anna is full of enthusiasm.

“Nothing, I’ll just try and talk to him, see if he has any plans or ideas.”

Anna smiles widely and gives him another hug, that is so tight that he can feel each one of his bruises. “Thank you!” Brock feels one of her tears drip onto his neck as she speaks.

*******

It’s Brock’s day off and he’s spending it at the beach when he gets a call from Silky, telling him that he absolutely stop by and try the new recipe he’s tried.

Brock tries to talk his way out of it, not really keen on driving to the neighbourhood he works in when he doesn’t have to, but Silky is relentless and threatens to cut off his coffee supply for all eternity and his cake supply on top.

Grumbling, Brock gives in and promises to stop by around seven that evening to try whatever Silky has made.

When he arrives he’s still dressed in his beach clothes, pink bathing suit underneath his blue shorts and bare chest underneath the green Hawaiian shirt. Nothing really matches, but that’s not what he cares about when he goes to the beach.

“Silky! You better get me the food fast before I turn around and go back home,” Brock calls as he walks up to the open window at the counter.

“Calm ya white ass down!” Silky yells back and a second later peeks his head through the open window. He starts laughing when he sees Brock. “Look at you, surfer-boy! Where’s you board at?” Silky’s teasing about his outfit makes him laugh, because Silky always sounds like Goofy when he’s laughing. Mockingly Brock imitates his laughter and gets swatted with a dishtowel for it.

“Did you just want to mock me and beat me or am I really here to try some of your new creations?”

“Wait, Imma get it out for ya. It’ll make you wanna marry me, it’s so good!” Silky seems very excited about this new dish, even more so than usual.

“What the fuck is this?” Brock hears while he waits and turns around, and seesa small but fat man walking towards Silky’s food stall.Behind him there’s a whole group of people following and Brock is reminded of a scene in West Side story, just that these guys look a lot scarier and deadly. Naturally, Brock’s eyes are drawn to the right, where he finds Jose walking beside the guy who just spoke.Brock’s pulse speeds up as he sees Jose. How is it possible to look this good in a simple pair of jeans and a wife-beater? It should be illegal. “What kinda clown’s this?”

“That the new social worker at the center,” Brock hears Jose supply the answer and tries not to fidget under the gaze of what must the gang leader Manuel. He’s heard of him, he’s just never seen him before.

“PhiPhi gone?”

“Yup,” Jose nods.

“He staying?”

“No idea. My ma says he fine.” Jose shrugs and stops a couple of feet from Brock. Now the whole gang’s staring at him.

“Let’s hope aunty Anna’s right.” There’s a warning in the words and in the weirdly green eyes of the guy. Brock pretends not to listen and keeps flipping through his phone.

“Here ya go,” Silky is back with his food and his eyes widen slightly when he sees the twenty gang members in front of his counter.

“What exactly is this?”

“Gumbo, extra spicy.”

“Sounds good,” Brock nods and goes to a corner to eat, still pretending to ignore the gang.

“You got that extra not spicy and with no meat in it?” Jose asks Silky.

“Nah, just the regular version,” Silky shrugs. “He likes his food spicy.”

“What? You got special food for Sebastian over here, but not for me?”

“Sebastian?” Escapes Brock, revealing that he is actually listening to what goes on.

“What ya got a problem with that?” Jose turns around to him and asks so harshly that Brock shrinks back a bit, but catches a whiff of Jose’s aftershave. Brock’s sure he turns even redder as he blushes under his sunburn.

“Why Sebastian?” Silky is as confused as Brock is.

“Look at him! He red as the Arielle crab!” Jose exclaims, gesticulating widely in Brock’s direction. The whole gang erupts in mocking laughter and even Manuel is bending over from laughing so hard. “What the fuck you done and did? Roasting and toasting ya white ass on ya day off? Better keep that head outta the sun the next time. There’s no sunblock fixin’ that for ya!” Jose keeps mocking him as the gang keeps laughing. Brock has to laugh as well, the comment is kind of funny, but at the same time he feels attacked. There’s nothing he can do though. What makes him nearly choke on his food though is the fact that Jose knows this is his day off. It’s not like he has the same day off each week, it varies. So why does Jose know that he’s not supposed to be around today?

“Silky, we need food and some champagne! You got champagne?” Manuel ends the laughter and gives Brock a chance to fade back into the background.

“Ya bet I do! Something to celebrate?” Silky asks.

“Just found out Imma be a father again! Baby number eight from these loins!” Manuel basically screams and Brock has to work very hard to keep his face void of any expression.

“Congrats, Manuel! You da man!” Silky high-fives the guy and hands two bottles of champagne over the counter.

“Imma be right back,” Brock heard Jose excuse himself and follows him with his eyes until he vanishes around a corner further down the street. He resumes eating his food, which he has to admit is really good, but Brock just wants to get out of there. He doesn’t want to be around these people and he shouldn’t hang around here on his day off. He’s going to tell Silky the next time he sees him alone. This is a dangerous situation for him and he’s already got beaten up this month, that’s enough for his taste.

“Yo, Sebastian, have some champagne!” Manuel slams a paper cup down in front of him, making nearly all liquid spill over.

Brock eyes it wearily, but knows he doesn’t have a choice. “Thanks and congratulations,” he does the cordial and clever thing to do.

By the time everybody has a paper cup in their hands, Jose is back, a young woman trailing behind him. They all cheer and congratulate Manuel to the pregnancy as if the kid’s already born. Brock sips a bit of the cheap champagne and watches Jose over the rim of his cup. It’s all he can do not to choke on the liquid, when he sees Jose down his cup, then turn to the woman, press her up against the wall and kiss her so passionately Brock can see the tongue action from where he’s standing.

Suddenly the food doesn’t look appetising anymore and his stomach feels too tight to eat. Brock knew before that the crush he has on Jose is totally one sided and even more hopeless, but having the proof right in front of his proverbial salad, still hurts. He needs to get out of there, because he feels like going home and having a good cry.

No one pays him any attention as he slips away and walks around the corner to his car. Brock’s reaches the door on the driver’s side when he realised that something is wrong. He looks around, then kneels down and finds his suspicions to be true. Not one, but all four tires have been slashed and fear runs through Brock. He knows this is a warning, he just doesn’t know from whom or why.

For a second he considers going back to Silky’s to tell him and Jose what happened, hopeful that Jose would help him again. But then he remembers the rest of the gang, Manuel and Jose’s girlfriend and he knows he can’t go back.

Instead he calls a tow-truck and then calls an Uber to go home. His sunburn is starting to hurt just as badly as his stomach, which is still in knots.

**TBC**


	4. I'll admit

**Four**

_I should take your hand_ _a_ _nd make you come with me._ _Away from all this noise_ _a_ _nd impurity_ _‘cause I feel like you're too perfect._ _And I don't mean just on the surface_ _so don't be scared, I am too._ _'Cause this chemistry between me and you_ _i_ _t's too much to just ignore it._ _So I'll admit that now I've fallen._

_(James Arthur - Maybe)_

Brock hears his office door open, but he’s too lazy to lift his head off the desk. He knows who it it anyway, he can tell by the smell of coffee and he time of day.

“What’s wrong with you?” Trevien asks when he see him halfway lying on his desk.

“I’m so fucking tired,” Brock mutters and closes his eyes again because they are burning.

“You were up late again?” Trevien sits the hot coffee down besides Brock’s head on the desk, the kicks the chair Brock is sitting on. Brock jerks startled and sits up, but kicks Trevien back.

“I couldn’t sleep. I was basically up all night.”

“You still paranoid?”

“I’m not paranoid. I swear to you I’m being followed,” Brock insists.

For the last two weeks, ever since his tires got slashed, Brock can’t shake the feeling that he’s being watched and followed. It’s not even that he’s ever seen anyone following him or caught someone watching him. Many times though, he has this prickling at the back of his neck, can feel his hairs stand up and eyes on him. It’s more a feeling that tells him about it, than that he really has any proof. And yet, Brock just knows that he’s right.

“They just slashed your tires. If it was a warning, they’d done something else by now. You have to stop worrying about this.” Trevien shrugs it off. It might be normal for him to see slashes tires, but not for Brock. In his world this is not normal and he really hopes he doesn’t lose his mind or become paranoid. In a way he hopes he is right and he’s being followed and watched. Then, of course, that would be just as much reason for concern as him becoming paranoid for no reason.

“I wish I could. Last night I nearly had a heart attack when there was some weird noise in the apartment. I nearly peed my pants when I went to check and it was just the cats. A couple of minutes later there was a noise outside my window and it turned out to be a bird. I wake up at every tiny sound and then can’t sleep anymore.” Brock runs his hands through his messy curls and remembers at this moment that he really needs to get a haircut.

“You’re crazy man. Shit like this just happens here. This is not fancy L.A. or boring Texas. You knew what you signed up for when you came here, I hope. Can’t have you losing it over this shit.”

Brock sighs. “You’re right. I just never thought I’d get beaten up and have my tires slashed before my first six months are over.”

“Forget about the tires, that’s just normal here. You’re lucky they didn’t just steal all the tires or the whole car.” Trevien throws his empty coffee cup in the bin and raises his hands in victory when he hits it at the first try.“About the rest: Don’t you think the gang has better things to do than to watch you? Why would they do that. You’re not that important,” Trevien states matter of factly.

Brock gasps exaggeratedly. “Are you saying I’m full of myself and that’s why I think I’m being followed?”

“You said it, not me,” Trevien laughs and ducks when Brock throws a paper ball at him.

“I’m too tired to nicker with you.”

“Why don’t you lie down for a bit? I’m starting my dance class later and will be around.”

“I can’t sleep on the job,” Brock protests.

“You basically already are.”

He sighs. “Fine, you’re right. Just for an hour though. I have more work to do. I need to finish the application for more money for your dance classes.”

Trevien laughs. “Then you can’t sleep. Get me some money so we can finally get some costumes for the kids and maybe get some equipment like a new stereo. The old one sucks.”

“Get out of here and let me rest. Then I’ll see what I can do.”

When Trevien leaves, still chuckling, Brock downs the rest of his coffee and then throws a blanket over the old sofa in the corner. He lies down and tries to relax. It’s not the most comfortable position squishing his tall frame on the tiny sofa, but at least he feels safe here. It takes a couple of minutes, but then Brock finally falls asleep.

*******

It’s seven thirty five in the morning, when Brock checks his watch the first time. Seven forty five when he checks it again.

After weeks of back and forth about finding a good time for an appointment, Jose had finally made an appointment with Brock through Anna. Brock is sure Anna’s nagging was a huge part of Jose finally giving in, but he’s agreed to the appointment to speak with Brock about an alternative plan for his future.

It wasn’t easy: Jose didn’t have time in the evenings, obviously and Brock wasn’t sure that Jose walking into the community center in the afternoon was the best idea. From what he knows at this point, if anyone ever saw Jose or any other gang member casually walking into the community center, then those who sought shelter from the violence outside would not come back and all the work they’d done would been vain.

Brock is also nervous because he hasn’t seen Jose in weeks, but he still hasn’t been able to stop thinking about him. He got up extra early this morning to take a long shower, shave, style his hair and dressed in his new jeans and tight T-shirt. He knows it’s ridiculous, but he wants to feel good and sexy and powerful when he’s sitting across from the sexy and intimidating gang member.

Brock has imagined this talks multiple times. Sometimes he imagines being completely professional, other times he thought they would just get talking, other times he pictured being threatened. He simply doesn’t know what to expect because Jose seems to be so multifaceted that it’s hard to predict what might happen. His crush on the other man doesn’t help at all.

Brock hasn’t forgotten the kiss or that Jose has a girlfriend, a different one each week, according to Anna.He knows the other man is straight, he knows he’s violent and dangerous, he knows Jose belongs in jail much more than in Brock’s bed.

Brock has come to the conclusion that maybe getting to know him better and being confronted head-on with the hopelessness of the situation will help him get over the crush. And he wants to talk to Jose about his feeling of being followed and get his opinion.

Jose was supposed to be here at seven thirty and Anna had asured Brock that her son had agreed to be there on time, behave and talk.

Seven thirty is early enough so that no one else is around, which is also true for this day. Only problem is, that Jose didn’t show up on time. An hour later, he still hasn’t showed up.Around nine Brock has his first regular appointment of the day and now hopes that Jose won’t show up anymore.

Over the next couple of hours Brock does his work and tries to forget about the fact that Jose didn’t show up, but he still looks around the corner every time the front door of the center opens.And every time it’s not Jose and Brock should be relieved, he is not. Instead he gets more and more angry. It might be out of disappointment, but professionally there’s no reason for it; Brock knows there’s nothing he can do for Jose. On a personal level it makes sense though, because all hopes of seeing Jose again and talking about certain things with him, are disappointed. It’s unprofessional and ridiculous, but Brock can’t change what he feels. He can only try and hide them, if he ever sees Jose again.

*******

In his disappointment, anger and buried in work, Brock forgets about another person involved in this mess: Anna.

When she suddenly stands in his office on her day off, large smile on her face when Brock is just packing his things to go home, he curses internally.

“And? What did you and Jose talk about?” Anna asks and looks so excited and happy that Brock wants to hide underneath his desk.

“Anna…” Brock starts but gets interrupted.

“I know you can’t say much because of confidentiality and this jazz, but please, just give me something!” Anna is vibrating with energy as she begs.

“He didn’t show up.” Brock lets her know. Anna’s smile remains on her face, but seems to freeze.

“What?” It’s pure disbelieve in Anna’s voice.

“Jose didn’t show up for his appointment.” There’s silence and Brock can see it when the words finally register with Anna. Her face falls, the smile is gone and Brock thinks it’s like the light leaves her eyes in that moment. Then they fill with tears and Brock’s feels the anger returning full force. How can Jose do this to his own mother?

“But he promised me that he… maybe he was early… or late? Maybe you missed each other?”

“I was here at seven and didn’t even leave during lunch break, Anna.He wasn’t here.”

Anna doesn’t reply with words, but the tears that suddenly stream down her face are enough of an answer. All Brock can do now is give her a hug, so he does. He holds Anna and lets her cry to out without saying anything to her. There’s no sense in telling her it will be ok, because it would be a lie. He also doesn’t want to tell her to stop crying, because in his books she has every right to cry; Her son is a gang member and that never ends well. His way is a given, prison or death and pretending it isn’t so, just isn’t right.

In fact, Brock’s eyes get teary as well, feeling with Anna and sharing her sadness. It overlaps with his own, albeit for different reasons. Brock is also someone who starts crying when he’s especially mad and the longer Anna cries, the angrier he gets.

When Anna finally pulls back and ends the hug, her shoulders are still dumped, but the way she wipes away her tears speaks of determination. “I want a drink.” Are the first words out of her mouth and they make Brock chuckle.

“You and me both,” he admits.

“You got some booze stored in your desk?”

Brock sees a chance to lighten the mood a bit. “My lady, will you let me invite your for a drink?”

“A young hot man like you asking this old lady out for a drink? You bet I’ll let ya.” There’s a small smile now on Anna’s face.

“Then let’s go?” Brock offers her his arm.

“Like this? I need to go home and change.”

“You look beautiful,” Brock states the obvious.

“You’re a charmer, Mr. Brock.Bet you’re breaking hearts all around.”

Brock snorts. “You’d be so disappointed.”

“Naaaah, I don’t believe it. You tell me what you’re looking for and Imma help you with some advice. We gonna find someone for ya.” Anna seems to welcome the distraction and kid trying ti fix Brock’s love life what distracts her from the problems with her son and keeps that horrible broken look off her face, then Brock will let her meddle for one night.

*******

Brock is slightly buzzed when he reaches his home. Being out with Anna, even under the circumstances, has been a lot of fun. They’ve stayed away from the topic of ‘who shall not be named’ and instead exchanged their most ridiculous dating stories, graded the guys walking by and by the time Brock wondered if it was really wise to let her know that he is gay, it was already too late.

It’s also the first time he’s been out since he got to Miami and in a weird way he feels energised and exhausted at the same time. Luckily, the restaurant they went to wasn’t too far away from his apartment so he could walk home after. For the first time in a long time, he also didn’t get the prickling at the back of his neck and didn’t think he was being watched or followed on his way home. If it’s because of his better mental state, or because there really was no one watching him, Brock doesn’t know.

He unlocks his front door and finds it odd that his cats aren’t waiting in front of the door like they usually do. Maybe because it’s so late?

Brock switches on the light in the living room and immediately jumps back and lets out a loud, high-pitched scream.

Jose is sitting on his couch, dressed in his usual jeans and wife-beater combo, a hat pulled deeply in his face. He’sbeen chilling in the dark apartment he’s obviously broken into.

“You late,” Jose states and has the guts to actually look pointedly at his watch.

“I’m…” Brock gapes at him like a fish. He cannot believe this guy. Brock’s angry, he’s confused, he’s scared, he’s also kind of happy to see him and he’s had a drink too much. In the end, the anger wins. “What the fuck are you doing here in my apartment?” Brock explodes.

“We got an appointment,” Jose shrugs, unimpressed by Brock’s yelling and him throwing his keys on the shelf by the door.

“We had an appointment sixteen hours ago! One that you didn’t cancel and didn’t show up for.”

“I had stuff to do.”

“You had…”Brock is yelling again but Jose interrupts him.

“Sorry, I’m late? That better?” Even though the words are apologetic, the way Jose says it certainly is not.

Brock’s officially had it and if he could, he would murder the guy with his own hands. “You don’t show up for your appointment without any notice, then you break into my apartment and now you’re sorry you’re late? Get out before I call the cops and have you arrested for breaking and entering!” Brock marches back to the front door and opens it wide.

Jose calmly holds his gaze, doesn’t avert his eyes or show any reaction to Brock’s threats. Then he slowly moves one hand to his hip, pulls out a gun, and places it on the coffee table.It’s a very open threat, especially when he also raises both eyebrows challengingly.

However, Brock is too mad to be scared anymore. Actually, he left mad behind him before Jose pulled the gun. He’s furious now. Brock’s whole body is shaking with rage as he holds onto the handle of his front door.

“Out!” He hisses.

Jose remains sitting on the sofa, but his expression changes slightly. For a second there’s silence between the two of them as they glare at each other. Then Jose’s posture changes as he relaxes a little bit; the cockiness is gone. “I’m sorry. I really am. Didn’t meant to make ya wait or nothing. That what you wanna hear?” His apology sounds more sincere this time, even if he’s bratty towards the end to not lose face.

“Then why did you?”

“Stuff came up.” Brock knows Jose can’t tell him whatever criminal things he had to take care off, but Brock needs to tell him why he is so furious. Brock is used to people not showing up without any explanation or notice, but this was different.

“You know, I didn’t want this appointment. Your mother asked me for it and I agreed to do her a favor. But the worst thing isn’t that you made me get up way too early and then made me wait as you stood me up, which is just a sign of a total lack of respect for me as a person as well as for my work. But do you know what happened when I had to tell your mother that you didn’t show up?”

Jose slowly shakes his head, his full attention on Brock. “She cried. And that’s the absolute worst part about it. Your mother broke down crying at the center and that’s also why I am home so late, because I took her out for a drink so she could talk and have some distraction, because obviously her own son doesn’t give a shit about her.”

“Fuck,” Jose curses and slumps on the couch. Brock can see how much it hurts the younger man what Brock just told him. “Ya gonna close that door before get eat by the flies?” Jose snaps when Brock just remains staring beside the open door.

“Put the gun away,” Brock requests first. Jose goes a step further and takes out the magazine, empties it and then puts the bullets in one of his pockets and the gun somewhere else. Only then does Brock close the front door and comes inside his own apartment fully. “Don’t ever bring a weapon to my place or my office, ever again.”

Jose nods. “I care about my ma. A lot. I just… something came up today. Can’t we just have that talk now?”

Brock shakes his head and sits down on the sofa, a safe distance away from Jose. “No. For one I never talk to clients in my own home. Two: You need an appointment. Three: It’s late, I’m tired and tipsy.”

Jose smiles when he hears the last point and gets off the couch. “My ma knows how to drink. You better be careful white boy.” He walks around, seems to take in the apartment. “Girlfriend?” Jose asks and holds up one of the two picture frames Brock has in his apartment.

“Niece.”

“Boyfriend?” He holds up the other frame.

“Brother.” Brock keeps watching him as Jose looks over the books in his shelves, opens the fridge and glimpses inside and then goes as far as to open the door to the bathroom and lurk into the bedroom. He finds Jose’s actions incredibly intrusive, but Brock knows there’s no point in lecturing him. The guy broke into his house, who knows what he has already snooped through while Brock was gone. When Jose turns on teh light in the bedroom, he wakes up the cats, who jump off the bed and make their way out to the living room. They jump up on the couch and greet Brock, who pets them.

“Your babies?” Jose asks, watching Brock from across the room.

“Yes,” Brock confirms this time.

Jose comes back to the sofa, apparently done with snooping for now, and sits down beside Brock. He lets the cats sniff his hand and bump their heads against him, marking him.

“Who this?”

“This is Apollo,” Brock watches as Jose carefully stroked the grey fur of his cat.

“And this?”

“This big boy is Henry.”

“Real fancy white ass names,” Jose remarks, but it’s more teasing and has no bite to it.

“What would you name them? Rambo and Pablo?” Brock shoots back and for the first time since their first meeting, Jose starts laughing. It’s just as loud as it was back then.

In this moment, Brock is reminded again how incredibly attractive Jose is and he wishes he’d be able to see a smile on his face more often than his usual scowl.

“You crazy.” It’s spoken so softly that Brock can barely believe that Jose uttered these words. He keeps staring at the other man, trying to figure out what to say or how to act in this situation. His head tells him to remind Jose of the time and ask him to leave. His heart wants him to pull Jose close and just hold him. His alcohol fuelled libido wants to just ravish him right here on the couch. Especially when Jose looks up and meets his eyes and gives Brock the chance to get lost in his soulful brown orbs.

“Can we make a new appointment?” Jose breaks the silence, when Brock is too hypnotised to do so.

“You’re sure you gonna show up?”

“Imma show up,” Jose nods. “Just… I gotta ask a favour.”

“What is it?”

“Can we talk here? It ain’t a good idea for me to be seen at the center. And it not a good idea for you too.”

Brock has to say no to this, it’s completely unprofessional. Especially, since he is painfully aware of just how out of hand his crush on Jose has got, now that they are sitting on his sofa in his apartment, petting his cats and all he can do is not jumps him. “Fine. But not more breaking in.” Fuck. That’s not what he meant to say.

“Thanks. Maybe that calm down my ma when she gonna whoop my ass.”

“Bad gangsters like you get beaten up by their mothers?” Brock smirks. Is he really flirting with him now? He has to stop! He should just shut his mouth and go to bed.

“You betcha.” Jose smiles at him and Brock feels hisheart beating so hard against his rib cage, he’s scared one can see it.

Jose is the one to break the intense eye-contact and shyly looks down to his lap. “I should go. You tired.”

“Mmh,” Brock nods and watches him still dazed, get off the sofa. “When do you have time for your appointment?”

“I don’t know… soon. Imma let you know?”

“No more breaking in!” Brock requests. “Call me or send me a text or something.”

“Imma send you a smoke sign,” Jose grins and pointedly doesn’t ask for Brock’s phone number.

“As long as you’re not burning something down while doing so.” Jose laughs again.

“Good night, Uncle Waldo.” Jose opens the door.

“Waldo? What happened to Sebastian?”

“You drunk and you wearing ugly beanies,” Jose shrugs with a smile and closes the front door behind him, before Brock can reply.

Brock sinks back against the couch cushions and sighs. What the fuck just happened? He’s obviously completely lost it. All because of a silly crush, that leaves him horny and frustrated.

“Aaargh!” Brock grabs a sofa cushion and screams his frustration into it, only to find out that the pillow smells like Jose. He digs his nose in even more and takes a deep breath.

**TBC**

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure how often I'll be able to update, but giving you this to put pressure on myself usually works ;)
> 
> How are you guys? It's been a minute. I hope you're all doing alright.


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